Southern Sand and British Boats
by Hellie Ace
Summary: Local Creole man, Alfred F. Jones, lives an easy, pleasant life. While vacationing on Grand Isle he meets a handsome British sailor who he hastily falls in love with on the beautiful white sand of the Louisiana beach resort. AU 1890s. USUK. One-shot.


**Southern Sand and British Boats**

**So for the Holidays, I thought of writing some cutesy Christmas themed one shot, but then a certain someone *cough*Kay*Cough* had me think up this little plot. Besides, FF will be flooded with Christmas fics, why not mix it up a little?**

**Just for the holidays, something not so angsty, and now with grotesque amounts of happy fluff. Enjoy this heart-warming mess. :3**

**AU in 1890s Grand Isle (Louisiana).**

**Beta'd by Trumpet-Geek**

**.:SS & BB:.**

Alfred inhaled the familiar scent of the salty sea air as he lay outstretched on the porch of his summer beach house. The old wooden boards were dotted with flecks of pearly sand that he'd tracked in from his earlier walk along the shoreline. His fingers lazily swirled the sand, and a hazy smile tweaked his lips as he thought of his plans for when the sun set.

A local, prominent fishing family was going to be hosting a grand party at their newly-renovated home. Of course, the wealthy Jones family had been invited, and Alfred was delighted to attend while his parents were away in New Orleans.

The boy loosed an airy, content sigh.

These were his favorite times –wasting the day away on the warm Grand Isle beaches. He loved enjoying the clean sea air by day, and walking through the Creole neighborhoods to enjoy the music, food and socializing by night. Yes, summer was most definitely the young blond's favorite time of year.

A breezy gust of wind brushed over the sand, dusting Alfred with the beach's crystal grains. He sat up to brush it off his baggy, white trousers. Satisfied with that, he let his warm, azure eyes scan the beautiful shifting horizon on the water.

A number of sailboats floated on the salty surf, their hulls breaking the foamy white tips of the light waves. Most of the boats were familiar to Alfred, with their names written beautifully on their gleaming sides. However, there was one white schooner on the water without a traditional French name painted on its hull.

Alfred pushed his glasses up on his nose, squinting to glimpse the name on the tall sailing ship. The word _Excalibur_ was neatly scrawled in red lettering near the bow.

_What an odd name..._Alfred thought as he stood up. Combing his fingers through his earthy-gold locks, he wondered just who would name their boat _Excalibur?_

_I wonder if he's not from around here. No decent Creole man would give his ship such a name, that's for sure! It's not a Spanish name, either. How strange!_

There was only one way to find out, the blond decided. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his open, white shirt, he tried to make himself as presentable as possible before walking out onto the gleaming sand.

The schooner, _Excalibur_, was drawing closer and closer to the shore at a sharp angle, as if looking for a harbor.

Alfred chuckled at the thought as he followed the shoreline. There were no harbors anywhere near this section of the island! This was a local beach resort, and most boaters moored on the sand banks or dropped their anchors in slightly deeper waters.

When the boat came within swimming distance of the shore, Alfred raised his arms above his head, and waved at the ship.

"_Bonjou!_" The Creole shouted into the sea breeze.

It was long moment before Alfred could see movement on the schooner, and a slightly hoarse voice answered him.

"Hello there! Any a place I might moor?"

The blue-eyed man sighed in good nature, waving his hands to direct the boat towards the shore.

"Anchor where you are or come up on the beach! Not a good soul on this island will bother her!"

Alfred stood where the water pushed up onto the sand as he waited for _Excalibur_to tread the shallow waters. He giggled excitedly when the boat's bottom scrapped the sand, and a sharply dressed man jumped from starboard side. He landed in the thick, wet sand with a grunt and a slushy splash.

The man immediately walked to the front of the high bow, and began to push the boat back to keep it from stranding on the sand.

"Go, and put your anchor in the water. The tide went out already, so you shouldn't have to worry." Alfred assured.

The man glanced back at him, considering the suggestion for a moment before nodding. He swung up onto the boat with an expert agility that made the Creole smile. Before Alfred knew it, the anchor splashed into the water along with the sailor. The man made sure to sink the heavy metal object into the sand, and he drew the rope taut before trudging onto the shore.

Alfred smiled brightly before wrapping his arms around the other man's shoulders, and kissing both his cheeks in friendly greeting.

"_Bonjou_, stranger! Welcome to Grand Isle!" He exclaimed excitedly, watching the sailor blush curiously.

The man was a bit shorter than Alfred, with bright blond hair and eyes that reminded the Creole of the stunning emerald gems that the rich women wore to Sunday church. The man was lean, arms corded with lithe muscle and he had a handsome face with a strong curving jaw. Alfred thought he quite liked the stunning sight, with the sea spray dampening his thin shirt, make it hug the man's body neatly.

"Yes, well then," he started, straightening out his collar since Alfred had rumpled it. "Thank you, sir."

"_Misyé_?" Alfred bayed with a fit of laughter. "You don't have to call me that! _Yé pél mó_Alfred F. Jones. _Sa ki non ou? Ki koté to só?"_

The sailor blinked, obviously confused by the mixed languages. He offered a sheepish smile, and answered,

"Yes?"

Alfred giggled, reaching over to pat the man's shoulder.

"You're not a Creole, are you?"

The sailor shook his head to mean 'no', but he was grateful that Alfred had decided to speak in English, even if it was heavily marred by his deep Southern Creole accent.

Alfred sighed, still retaining his signature grin, though.

"I thought not. I said, 'you don't have to call me sir,' that 'my name is Alfred F. Jones,' 'what happens to be your name,' and 'where are you from,' stranger?"

"Ah!" The other man exclaimed, laughing nervously, still a bit uncomfortable about the native's overzealous attitude. "My name is Arthur Kirkland, and you're quite right; I'm not from these parts. I'm from Yorkshire –that's in England– and it's a pleasure to me you, Mr. Jones-"

"Alfred. Call me Alfred, _souplé_."

"Very well. I am pleased to meet you, Alfred."

"_Kontan wé ou to_, Arthur!" The Creole man exclaimed, smiling brightly. His dazzling blue eyes shimmered with excitement. It wasn't often that foreigners visited Grand Isle during the extremely hot summer months. The usual vacationers were mostly businessmen from New Orleans or rich Southern families.

"Uh..."

"Oh! Bless your heart! I'm so sorry about that! I said 'I'm glad to meet you'!"

"It's quite all right," Arthur assured with an amused smirk.

"So what brings you to this side of paradise?" The Creole inquired.

"I originally sailed for Charleston, but decided to cruise the Florida Keys. A local man directed me here, saying it was one of the nicest summer resorts. He told me the locals were friendly, and that I'd enjoy myself if I sailed to."

"He didn't lie! Grand Isle is beautiful, as well! He was a knowledgeable man, _non_?"

"Well, _you_certainly are friendly," Arthur agreed with a soft chuckle. Alfred merely smiled wider, and it was in that short silence that the sailor really observed the young Creole.

He had broad shoulders and a neatly sculpted torso, plainly visible from his open shirt. He was layered with the sleek muscles of an adept swimmer, though his face was soft and merry. His eyes were a startling blue and his skin beautifully tanned from the bright Louisiana sun. Even his hair seemed to shimmer brightly in the strong sunlight. Dressed in all loose, white attire the man seemed radiant, perhaps even angelic.

"Arthur?"

Pulled from his admiring thoughts, Arthur responded with an unintelligent,

"Huh?"

Alfred laughed.

"You looked a bit hazy there for a moment. I just wanted to make sure you were still well."

"Yes!" Arthur responded quickly, cheeks warming in his flustered state at having been caught.

The taller blinked curiously before he encircled his hand around the Brit's wrist. He pulled him closer with a boisterous grin.

"Come with me! I'll show you around the island!" He commanded happily.

The emerald-eyed sailor's cheeks darkened with a furious blush as his face came within centimeters of the other's. The Creole didn't seem perturbed in the least at their lack of physical distance.

"You're blushing, _mon compére_!" Alfred observed.

"I disagree. It's merely this scorching heat getting to me," Arthur argued, brows furrowing.

"Then let's go. I'll get you a fan and you can cool off at my home."

Arthur slipped his wrist free, and sighed.

"While I appreciate such a generous offer, I must decline."

"_Kofé?_" Alfred whined dejectedly, his lips turning down in a pout. Arthur didn't need to understand the word to see that he'd upset the local. Alfred gave Arthur a pathetic look, and it reminded him strangely of a kicked puppy –a kicked puppy with big, blue eyes and lovely, very kissable lips.

The Brit groaned.

"It's just that-"

"_Souplé_?" The Creole pleaded, taking Arthur's hands, and shaking them vigorously.

The sailor was taken aback at first, but eventually resigned. The young man's expression was impossible to deny, and Arthur couldn't bear to grieve the handsome local by turning down his invitation.

"Oh, if you insist..."

"Hooray!" Alfred cheered, tugging Arthur's hands. The sailor grudgingly allowed himself to be led over the expanse of pearly white sand to a neat, wind-worn cabin. It was small, but looked cozy. Seashells and patches of sand littered the porch, along with a pale rocking chair near the screen door.

"I apologize about the mess. I don't get very many visitors out here, and I would feel terrible about making the servants clean the beach house in the hot months," he explained, brushing away the sand from the porch steps after plucking a pair of fans off the windowsill. The blue-eyed Creole always kept a few on the porch for when he liked to sit outside to watch the waves.

Alfred sat down on the top ledge of the porch stairs, and then patted it, inviting Arthur to join him under the shade of the awning.

The sailor gladly stepped out of the Louisiana sun, and sat down beside Alfred with a sigh. He gratefully accepted one of the fans from the cheery blond, and opened it with a sharp snap. Alfred did the same, fanning himself to cool off from the heavy heat.

"It's dreadfully warm."

"Mmmhhhhmmmm," Alfred agreed, pursing his lips in a wide smile. "Heat of the day! It'll cool off to be real nice in the evening. That's when I'll take you around. I have a party to attend, so you can come with me to meet some of my friends!"

"Are you sure that's acceptable? I don't want to intrude on a party I wasn't invited to."

"Everyone's invited! There's no such thing as an exclusive party on Grand Isle! Don't you English fellows know anything about hospitality? Parties are for everyone!" Alfred laughed heartily at the scathing look Arthur shot him.

"Of course we do, yankee!"

"_Non_! I'm not a yankee! _Popa_was, but _Moman_raised me in _Vieux Carré_."

"What's that have to do with it?" Arthur cocked a heavy brow.

"Yankees-" Alfred pointed up with his index finger and a smug smirk on his lips. "Are up North." He tipped his finger down, tapping it on the stairs. "Here, we are Southerners, but more importantly, we are Creole. We are a very different breed of Americans, I think you'll see."

"How so?"

"We're simply better, of course!" Alfred teased.

The emerald-eyed man scoffed, but said nothing more. He settled his gaze on the ocean, watching his schooner bob in the surf as the rolling waves splashed the sleek hull. He was unsure of how long the sea and boat captured his attention, but he did hear Alfred shift beside him.

Alfred had decided to lie on his side against the smooth, worn wood of the porch. He tossed his fan in Arthur's lap, startling the Brit.

The shorter glanced down at the American, who'd closed his eyes, and curled up.

"If you want to stay out late for the party, I suggest trying to catch a nap. This sun will tire you out, and make it hard to enjoy all the fun later, _mon cher_.

"What did you call me?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing!" Alfred smirked, still with his eyes closed. He patted the ground, beckoning Arthur to follow his example.

The emerald-eyed blond uneasily mirrored the American, feeling his heart begin to race as he laid so close to the Creole man.

"You sleep on the porch?" He tried to ease his nervous tension with words. The blue-eyed Creole's lazily drawled speech was soothing, and easy to listen to.

"_Non._I nap on the porch. I sleep in my bed, if I'm not out at a party, that is. They're quite different, much like yankees and Louisiana Creoles." He then loosed a long yawn, and fell silent afterwards.

Arthur realized the other man had fallen asleep within moments of their conversation ending, and sighed. He raised his head, glancing around, gladly noting that there didn't appear to be anyone else on the beach at the moment. The Brit took the chance to get comfortable beside the American.

He watched the man's sides rise and fall in a slow rhythm as he breathed. The Creole in white really was stunning, Arthur decided.

He reached his hand out daringly to brush a stray lock of soft, golden hair from Alfred's face before tracing his fingertips delicately over the smooth skin of the man's jaw. The American made a soft noise and smiled in his sleep. By instinct, Arthur jerked his hand back to his chest, biting his lip nervously.

Alfred didn't wake, however, and the sailor sighed in relief. He closed his eyes, focusing on trying to slow his thundering heart back to a normal tempo. When he did, he felt a wave of tiredness flood him, and couldn't resist the sound of the surf nor Alfred's soft breathing lulling him to sleep as his world faded to sweet oblivion.

**.:SS & BB:.**

Arthur tugged at his collar nervously, reluctant to be led by the young, blond Creole as they walked up the porch steps of a grand beach house.

The sun had descended in the sky already, leaving only a few purplish streaks in the otherwise black sky. Thousands of stars burned brightly overhead, leaving silvery light to mingle with the fiery gold of the torches lining the property.

Alfred stepped up to the door, knocking on the wooden frame. Only a thin, mesh screen separated them from the inside to allow the cool night air to circulate through the home, and they could hear voices farther away.

When no answer came, the Creole man frowned.

_"Madanm Chelles! Misyé Chelles! Koté ou yé?"_He called.

_"Nou ou isit,_Alfred_!"_A woman's voice answered from behind the house.

The blue-eyed man snagged Arthur's wrist, practically dragging him around back to where a large group of people were gather around the burning torches. A general chorus of drawling dialogue carried on and filled the air with soft noise.

The back door to the beach house was wide open with sharply dressed men and women collecting around it. The sound of a piano being played drifted from within, and carried out into the clamor of the crowd.

A beautiful woman with chocolate brown hair in a flowing sky-blue dress came running out of the crowd to embrace Alfred. She kissed his cheeks before clasping his hands with a wide smile.

"_Mwen Kontan mo ou isit,_Alfred!"

"_Mési, madanm._" Alfred responded, turning to Arthur with a glowing smile. The woman only then seemed to notice the British sailor.

"_Ki ou to, compére_?" She asked sweetly. Arthur merely shuffled his feet awkwardly, glancing to Alfred for help. The taller laughed and gladly stepped in to assist his new friend.

"He is not from around here," he spoke in English so that Arthur could understand. The Brit was grateful for that, as he felt silly just standing there, and being completely left out of the conversation.

"Oh, Lordy mercy! I'm so sorry about that!" She apologized to Arthur, patting his cheek. He was still unsure about the near-constant physical contact and lack of personal space these people seemed to have. On one hand he found it amusing when it came from Alfred, but on the other is became awkward between strangers – like now.

"It's quite all right, m'lady."

The woman brightened with a huge smile.

"You are English, _non_? I have a cousin in Guildford!"

Arthur nodded.

"It's a pleasant enough place."

"Anyway," Alfred interjected, "I want to show him a good time while he's vacationing here! I do hope you could help me?" He winked slyly at her. The woman giggled.

"Surely! Let us show our guest some true Southern entertainment, shall we?"

She flounced back into the crowd, beckoning for the two blonds to follow after her. Alfred raced after her with a bubbling laugh on his lips. The Brit merely shook his head before following after at a much more leisurely pace.

Alfred spent most of the party introducing Arthur to all the locals. As time went on, the music died down and people began to disperse. Despite that, Arthur found himself having a good time. He enjoyed watching Alfred's happy grins spread across his sun-kissed visage and the drawled words he spoke. They were like warm honey, thick and sweet, flowing off his tongue in the distinct Creole twang that the sailor found ever so charming.

Before he knew it, Alfred's arm was hooked around his shoulders, pulling him close, and both were laughing merrily along with a group of Creole men telling jokes. Arthur had to wipe away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes as they laughed like loons.

"Lordy! You fellows have gotten me so up that I'd forgotten to watch the time! It's got to be nearin' four in the morning, now!"

Alfred snickered.

"Blame it on us, huh, _nonc_?"

"I am, Alfred! You always get my spirits up!" The man said, clapping the blue-eyed Creole's shoulder before yawning. "Though, I think it's time for me to be returning home. My wife probably thinks I went down to the shore for a bath and drowned, since I've been gone so long!"

They all chuckled, agreeing that it was getting to be late. The group dispersed, leaving Alfred and Arthur almost completely alone.

The taller blond smiled down at the British sailor.

"Ready to head home?"

"Indeed I am," Arthur affirmed with a loud yawn.

"Let me bid farewell to _Madanm Chelles,_and then we can go."

Arthur nodded, a bit disappointed when Alfred's arm left his shoulders, and the American walked back towards the beach house. He watched the blue-eyed Creole stride across the yard with admiring eyes. Dressed in his flowing white garments, surrounded by golden torch light reflecting off his tanned skin and with the simple grace of a confident man, Alfred was one of the most stunning sights Arthur had ever had the pleasure of observing. Next to the sea, the young Creole was the most fascinating thing in the sailor's world.

Alfred caught his British friend staring on the return walk. He grinned, leaning close to the shorter so that his breath tickled the emerald-eyed man's lips.

"Ready to go, _mon cher_?"

"That's twice you've called me that," Arthur responded in a faint haze, not bothering to move away from Alfred. "What does it mean?"

"I think you know. Now, come along! It really is late!"

Arthur furrowed his brows, but allowed himself to be led by the wrist without question.

"Why won't you tell me?" He inquired as they walked down a tall sand dune.

Alfred didn't answer. Instead, he began to whistle a tune as he playfully kicked up the sand with his bare feet.

"Alfred-"

"Oh, my darling, you will be, yes, you will be always be young and fair to me~!" Alfred began to sing in his thick voice, effectively cutting Arthur off. The Brit didn't mind, though. He became entrapped in the sweet lull of the Creole's voice all over again as he continued with the song.

"Oh! My darling, mine alone! Yes, my darling, mine alone~!" Alfred sang on, slowly slipping his hand down to Arthur's wrist inconspicuously.

"Love can never grow old." He fingers slipped into the Brit's palm. "Locks may lose their brown and gold. Cheeks may fade and hollow grow~"

Arthur found himself squeezing those digits affectionately as Alfred led him down to the huge, flat expanse of sand in front of the Creole's beach house.

"But the hearts that love will know~" They paused, and Alfred turned to face the emerald-eyed blond. "That, my darling, you will be, yes, you will always be young and fair to me~"

Arthur didn't resist as the blue-eyed man leaned close to him again, their chests brushing against one another.

"Yes, my darling, you'll be mine alone. My darling, the hearts that love will know. Never, never winter's frost and chill; the summer warmth in them still~" He finished in a whisper, warm breath caressing the Englishman's face.

"'My darling'... That's what it means, isn't it?" Arthur inquired softly, eyelids at half-mast.

Alfred nodded slowly.

The sailor smiled before leaning up to kiss the Creole man's thin lips. He tasted sweet, just like his accent. It was like tasting the sky, with a sense of freedom, and like the earth, warm and welcoming, but more importantly, he tasted like an angel –perfection.

Arthur drew back once he was sure he'd memorized that wonderful feeling, but kept himself pressed flush against the taller.

Alfred held him close under the pale moonlight. It reflected off the sand and the sea, showering them in a silvery glow. The waves lapped at the shore and against the hull of _Excalibur –_that wonderful vessel that had brought Arthur to Alfred– but neither could pay them any mind. Each was entirely focused on the other.

The Creole man bowed his head to whisper in the Brit's ear,

"_Mo laimm twa..._"

Arthur didn't need to know the exact meaning of the sweetly drawled words to understand the affectionate emotion contained within them.

"I love you, as well," Arthur responded, nuzzling into the crook of the blue-eyed American's neck. He was content to stand with Alfred in his arms on that sugar-sand beach forever if it meant he never had to let go the beautiful Creole man. Alfred undoubtedly felt the very same way...

**N'awwwwww, ok, here is the massive list of translations. I really hope they're right. I certainly don't claim to be Creole (though, I am Southern), so no flames! I tried... really freakin' hard!**

**Bonjou = hello**

**Misyé = sir**

**Yé pél mó = they call me/ my name is**

**Sa ki non ou? = so what is yours(name)?**

**Ki koté to só? = Where are you from?**

**souplé = please**

**Kontan wé ou to = glad to meet you**

**non = no**

**mon compére = term of endearment, basically 'my friend'**

**Kofé? = why?**

**Popa = dad**

**Moman = mom**

**Vieux Carré = The French Quarter of New Orleans. Literally means 'old square.'**

**Mon cher = my darling**

**Madanm = madam**

**Koté ou yé? = Are they here(this exact location)?**

**Nou ou isit = We are here(over here)**

**Mwen Kontan mo ou isit = I am glad you came over here**

**Mési = thanks**

**Ki ou to? = Who are you? *whispers* Canada... *shot***

**nonc = term of endearment towards a male friend. Something along the lines of uncle, though not necessarily a blood uncle.**

**Mo laimm twa... = I love you...**

_**Southern slangs:**_

**bless your heart = informal way of apologizing/ thanking someone for their patience with you**

**Lordy mercy = exclamation of surprise, sort of like 'oh my!'**

**a bath = to go swimming**

**The song Alfred was singing was a very popular song in the late 1800s, and was a barber shop quartet staple. It's called a Silver Thread Among the Gold.**

**Old Louisiana Creoles are a very friendly, affectionate people. The language is a mix of French, English, Spanish and native American with strong Caribbean influences. Its vocabulary is mostly French related though.**

**People outside of the US, don't call a Southern a 'yankee'. We'll look at you like your stupid. xD 'Yanks' and 'yankees' are either people from up North or the baseball team. It's usually not offensive, but I've heard it be used with some other rather nasty words. xD I think it's kind of cute, actually. Sort of like when we get called 'crackers' and 'red-necks' a lot. Lol. I've never found either to be offensive, but some people get sensitive.**

**Yeah, that girl at the party was supposed to be Seychelles. ;)**

**So thanks, Kay, for helping to inspire this wonderful plot! :) Happy (and safe) Holidays to everyone!**


End file.
